But that was just a dream
by CatnipSoup
Summary: "Nostalgia is inevitably a yearning for a past that never existed." - John Green / onesided!Alan/Kevin


**But that was just a dream.**

**Rating**: E

**Pairing**: Onesided!Alan/Kevin

**Summary**: "Nostalgia is inevitably a yearning for a past that never existed." - John Green

**Notes**: Originally uploaded (under a different name) as a response to a meme prompt, but I'll be surprised if you recognize it.

* * *

It was something he'd always remembered. A memory that stood out bold and bright even among the most fresh.

The last night he saw Kevin Flynn.

The rest of the day itself was far from remarkable. Hours spent at the office, grey clouds rolling in to signal an impending storm, a quiet dinner at home. Alone. It should have been as unmemorable as it was unremarkable, but almost cruelly his mind refused to let go of a single detail, as if somewhere in the course of his day there was a hint waiting to be discovered. Some clue tucked neatly away in his subconscious as to what had happened.

But no matter how many times he turned it over in his mind, there was nothing at all significant about that day until Kevin had come pounding on his door, demanding to be let in because he _had to tell him something_.

"I've cracked it!" He said, going on and on about a thousand and one things that Alan was having trouble keeping up with, not that it mattered.

If Kevin told him he'd turned water to gold, he'd believe him in an instant.

In his excitement, the programmer took his friend's hands in his own, blissfully unaware of how the simple action caused Alan's stomach to feel like it was doing flips. "This is gonna to change the _world_, man."

The last thing he told him, the last thing he said to Alan before he left, was to wait by his phone for an extremely important call, and Alan did. He waited.

And waited.

* * *

It was years, twenty of them, before he finally got that call. And when he did, it was from a much younger Flynn.

But the effect was no less powerful.

"I found him.. Alan, _I found him_."

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think beyond his need to get there, to them, to see with his own two eyes and know for himself that he could stop waiting. But Sam must have heard the rustle of his sheets as he got up, or at least anticipated his reaction, because the very next words out of his mouth was an extremely apologetic request that he not come by that night.

_There will be plenty of time to catch up, I promise_.

He wanted to argue at first, but he knew better than anyone that Sam wouldn't do something out of spite, no matter how tense things between them had become, so when he added that his father needed rest, his word was enough.

It didn't make the waiting any easier.

* * *

And yet, for all his waiting, he hesitated when he got to the door. His eyes had begun to tear again, and he didn't want to see Kevin like that. It was only a moment, but Alan reminded himself that it was another moment they wouldn't get back and knocked without wasting another one.

When Sam opened the door, Alan felt a little guilty for the instant of relief he had at the sight of the other's glistening and slightly puffy eyes. He hardly had as much of an excuse to cry as the blond did, but it was a comfort all the same to know he wasn't alone in it.

He smiled, brightly, more happy than Alan had seen him in years, and as if the universe had made an oath to surprise Alan at every second, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the older man at once. It had been like this, Alan remembered, for the first few days after Kevin had gone. But this.. this was so much better. "A-alan," Sam paused, clearing his throat softly to try and steady his voice. "It's.. it's so good to see you, man. Dad's, uh… He's in the _kitchen_." He says it with a small laugh, like he can't possibly believe he's able to say those words. Alan can hardly blame him.

With a small nod, and only when Sam lets go, Alan heads over the corner Sam insists is a kitchen. He'd swear his heart stopped beating.

There he was, Kevin Flynn, aged and beautiful, turning away from the refrigerator with carton of juice like he hadn't been gone for twenty years, and Alan's not sure if he wants to cry or laugh or slap him for it. He settles on none of them, and instead stares. His eyes greedily taking in the changes as if it might help fill the spaces his absence had left behind.

His hair had grayed, though it was just as thick and healthy as he'd remembered it, and the lines stood out clear on his face as a testament to time and stresses Sam had only begun to tell him of on the phone before he'd been rushed off by his father for 'real food', but despite it all—and in some ways, possibly, because of it—Kevin looked.. he looked good.

But what had caught Alan's attention, what had him rooted to his spot and lost in the memories were those eyes. Shining, deep, perfectly blue eyes. They held a sadness in them, but something shone through as if to push those thoughts away. Determination, Alan noted.

He'd dreamed of that look.

And then he smiled, _smiled_, at Alan. The expression small at first, just tugging at the corners of his lips from behind well-trimmed facial hair, and quickly widening to a full on grin as he began to open his mouth, about to speak in those warm tones Alan had missed so much.

"Oh, hey Bradley."

* * *

He'd gone over this moment _easily_ thousands of times before in his mind, and while a simple friendly pat had been one of them, _utter indifference_ had not.

"Bradley? You alright there, man?" That ever-keen gaze looks him over with mild concern. The kind one might have for a passing man or woman who was carrying a stack of books that were just a few too high. It wasn't the kind of concern one shows for someone they care for, in any capacity. Not as a friend, or even a close acquaintance. Not what one feels for someone their soul has ached for, and for over _twenty years_.

Not the kind of concern Alan would show him.

"Yeah," Is all he can manage, and as he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose he prayed Flynn wouldn't see his hand shaking.

He doesn't, and Alan isn't sure if it relieves him or makes it all that much worse. He seems utterly oblivious, drinking right from the container he'd pulled out when Alan had walked in. His eyes weren't even on him anymore, instead focusing on some worn figuring that too long ago had bore a startling resemblance to him. He didn't know what to make of that, never had. He'd been so involved with TRON, had been so insistent that Alan's be the face of the titular character, he'd assumed it meant.. something.

_'Come on. Don't you want to be my hero?'_

It's Alan's turn to look off, and he wills away the memory of the earnestness, the smiles and the flattery Kevin had caked on to convince him to lend his face to the project.

"It's just.. been awhile, Kevin."

He laughed then, a deep _beautiful_ laugh, but it doesn't warm Alan's heart like it used to. It doesn't fill the steadily growing hole in his chest.

"A 'Kevin' right off the bat? It only took you twenty years!" He gets that clap on the back then, but just after it the laughter stops, and only then does Alan realize he's flinched. He sees the question forming in the man's eyes, watches as his brow furrows and his mouth opens to ask why he's acting the way he is..

But he's allowed a reprieve when Sam walks in, unwittingly looking between them with a wide grin as if he's expecting them to hug and gab about all that's happened, to chat like old friends do. That, at least, made sense. Over the years he'd no doubt picked up on Alan's behavior, the way he embellished certain details about his father during stories, or the way his eyes lit up when he talked about him, and the sorrow in them during the silence afterward. He thought they were close.

And, until three minute ago, Alan had too.

"Dad, why don't you and Alan come sit on the couch and catch up. I'll go find Quorra so she can meet him too." Alan tensed all over at the suggestion. He knew Sam meant well, he usually did, but just looking at the utterly disinterested look on Kevin's face, and feeling the awful pain in his heart at the sight of it, he knew this idea wasn't going to be good for anyone.

Neither of them would bring themselves to stop Sam from leaving, however.

Kevin out of courtesy, and Alan out of fear his voice would crack.

* * *

It wasn't any easier without Sam there. Or maybe it was, since Alan could avoid having to look at that blissfully ignorant face. It was wrong, bitter and selfish, but Alan couldn't help but feel cheated. Sam had gotten his father back, ENCOM it's president, and what did Alan have? What did _Alan_ have to show for his twenty years of devotion?

The same tiring job, an eventless social life, a house much too large to ignore just how empty it always was. And, speaking of..

"How's Lora?"

He doesn't mean anything by it, it's just a little polite conversation. But Alan's tone isn't any more chipper for of it when he replies, "I don't know. We lost touch a long time ago."

This, at least, catches his attention. He's surprised, but Alan's not entirely sure of why. He and Lora had never been very convincing, or at least that's what they had thought. But he never really had any reason to pay attention, did he?

He gets quiet again at that, as does Flynn. The silence passing between them like an unspoken barrier, something that both noticed was there, but didn't know how to cross, and wasn't willing to try.

"You, uh.. Want a beer, or something?"

He doesn't, he never does, and he responds the same way as always. "Sure, Flynn."

* * *

Four hours and two shared six packs of beer. That was what it took for Kevin to have a genuine interest in anything Alan had to say, but he doesn't dwell on that. The why isn't important, just that they're talking because, when they are, it's actually nice. It's the way he remembers, down to the mannerisms and the quirks and the few words Kevin just can't say right no matter how many times he's corrected.

It's the silences that get him, when the almost sagely Flynn seems to remember how disinteresting he finds Alan, and innocently comments on his son's tardiness.

It shouldn't have surprised him, given how long he'd known Sam, but it was no less discouraging to know that he couldn't leave until he returned. Sam knew he wouldn't, he was likely counting on it. But Alan wasn't sure what he expected to happen, or why he felt it needed over four hours of privacy. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what he was expecting, given how that would reflect entirely on what he'd picked up from Alan himself.

"Twenty years is a long time, man…" Flynn says suddenly, breaking their mutually uncomfortable silence.

"Sam told me it was one thousand for you." Another thing he'd told him before he'd passed out on the other side of the phone, something he still wanted answers to. But he'd wait and ask Sam himself for the details, now that he seemed to want him around again.

"Something like that, yeah." Kevin's gaze was on the floor, though it had of course been everywhere but Alan's face the whole day. So it isn't until he notices the incredibly drawn expression on the man's face that Alan can really claim to notice anything is wrong.

He takes one of Kevin's large, strong, hands into his own. And while he could lie about it being a reflexive action in the face of someone who clearly needed comfort, he wouldn't. Not about this. It had very little to do with his need to care for others, and everything to do with his need to care for and comfort and help Kevin Flynn. Anything he needed, whenever he needed it. It was hardwired into him.

Or coded..

"Kevin, it's.. It's alright." Slowly he smiles, his tone soft but _searching_. Like a dog searches their master's face for any sign that they're good enough, pleading for a pat on the head and word that they're worth keeping around. "You're home."

At once he knew at once it was a mistake, all of it. It was too warm, too caring.

But Flynn looked up into his face, read his open, _adoring_ expression, and Alan couldn't find the strength to turn away. It was too late anyway. Alan was too obvious and the man beside him too keen. So he doesn't try, he just keeps searching, laying his heart and soul on a silver platter before the great Kevin Flynn in the hope that it might be enough. A pathetic attempt, (and to Alan) a pathetic offering, but it's all he has, and after so many nights of wondering.. He has to know.

"Don't.." The man says, confused yet sure and so tense Alan fears his back might break in half. "Don't look at me like that."

Already he feels the tears stinging his eyes, and though he told himself to drop it, to let it go and salvage whatever friendship he has with Kevin and _walk away_, he just can't. Worse yet, his own voice betrays him. He pleads. "_Why_?"

He's seen Kevin emote so much. Happiness, pride, disappointment, confusion, but never pity. He's never seen pity, and when he sees the 'Oh, Alan' begin to form in those eyes, he realizes that he's never hated the sight of Kevin's face more.

"Alan, buddy, I.. I'm sorry."

Those words did it, or maybe just the sincerity in them, and the tears spill down his cheeks and passed the rim of his glasses before he can try to stop them, and then he finds the strength to look away, if only because he can't imagine the look on Kevin's face when he sees what he's been reduced to. And because he doesn't _want to_.

He wants to leave and pretend he hadn't spent his life waiting for a man who barely considers him an acquaintance. To forget the nights he woke up in a cold sweat, bawling like a small child at the thought of what could have happened to him. Or the night's he didn't sleep at all, simply watching the old pager as it rested on the pillow beside his like a lover would until he had to drag himself out of bed.

"Hey, guys! I found… Quorra."

He can't take anymore. No more smiling faces, no more false pleasantries. "I have to go."

For the first time in too long, Alan allows himself a moment of selfishness and leaves without another word. Leaving a very confused, and worried, Sam Flynn in his wake.

* * *

And if that night, as the unexpected rain drums against his windows, Alan falls asleep beside his pager, waiting just as he always has for a message that will never come… No one will be there to question it.

And for that, at least, he's a little grateful.


End file.
